


Glow

by emera_jade



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Consensual, Drinking, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Lume!verse, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Possible Mystrade, Romance, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, light - Freeform, new verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:37:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emera_jade/pseuds/emera_jade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**SUMMARY SUBJECT TO CHANGE**<br/>Sherlock is a Lume born in a family of Shades and he vowed that he would never shine for anyone. Enter Shade John Watson who manages to break through Sherlock's shell and makes him question his decision to hide his light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was wandering, well, weaving was a more accurate description, across the university campus. He had left his 'friend' Billy's flat around midnight and currently the bell in the campus clock tower had rung one. Sherlock debated going back to his flat but opted to flop down on the damp grass in front of one of the buildings.

He took a deep breath and stared up at the swirling, deep blue blanket that housed the stars above him. The sky tilted left then right, then it came closer and Sherlock giggled as he though of all the swirling colors of Van Gough's Starry Night. The stuff from Billy was particularly good tonight.  
 _'It had damn well better be considering...'_ he thought as he sat up and looked to his right and out over London. Sherlock didn't even know why he had come back after all these years.

He had laid off the heavy stuff ten years ago after he had OD'd and woken up to his mother's and Mycroft's disappointed looks in the hospital.  
 _"You need to take care of yourself,“_ his mother had said, weeping.  
 _"What if you had burned out?“_ Mycroft had scolded.  
Sherlock snorted at the memory. That had been all his family had cared about for as long as he could remember. Be very careful, stay healthy and above all don't burn out. Sherlock couldn't list all the times he had wished he wasn't a Lume if he lived forever.

Sherlock got to his feet and wove the rest of the way to the road and hailed a cab.

His earliest memory was of light. A gorgous lilac colored light that shine from every part of him that wasn't covered by his clothes. He remembered his mother and father beaming at him as they watched him stack blocks or scribble little stick men, though they never shone like he could. Mycroft had never been jelous, but once, when Sherlock had accidentaly spilt juice on one of his books, Mycroft had said he wished it had been Sherlock's twin who had survived, the Shade. Sherlock had cried and the once happy glowing boy stopped glowing so often.

The cabbie knocked on the divider and Sherlock paid his 40 pound fare with three 20s. He stepped from the cab into the cool spring air, not bothering to take his change, and climbed the steps to his flat after three tries to get his key in the lock.

When he was safely in his flat Sherlock drew the curtains over the one window in the tiny living room and stripped. He stuffed his clothes against the bottom of the door, blocking the little gap, an dstood in front of a large rectangular mirror that he didn't have room for on the wall. The haze in his head was mostly background, but it was enough to make him relax and a soft glow began to gather around him.

Sherlock watched himself in the mirror as his skin took on a soft sheen, a light lilac haze forming like an aura around his body. He brought his hands up to his chest and wrapped his arms across himself as his mind relaxed more and the glow intisified. His pale soft skin had taken an almost crystaline quality to it, but he could still feel his body giving off warmth and yielding under his own touch. He didn't glow often.

The haze of drugs in him mind made him revel in the rare reflection of his glow. Even though he often saw Lumes of various colors walking around London, proudly glowing for themselves or the Shades that surrounded them Sherlock hadn't shined for anyone since he was 6. He had been playing with the son of one of his parents' friends and Sherlock had shown him his 'shine' as he had called it then. The boy had been afraid and when both their parents came rushing in the boy's mother had snatched him up and began yelling at his mother and father for having „such an unspeakable son.“ He never saw the boy or his family again. Sherlock had cried and asked Mycroft why she had been mean to him.  
"She's a shade, like Mum and Dad and me. But you, you're special, you're a Lume and lots of people are scared of people like you.“  
"Why?“  
"Because you're strange and powerful and lots of people wish Lumes didn't exist.“  
That was when Sherlock had vowed to never again glow for anyone except himself.

Sherlock clenched his eyes shut and he stopped shining so suddenly that it left spots dancing in his vision. He went back to his small bedroom in the little flat on Judd and drifted into a sporadic sleep.

~*~*~

It was almost noon when he woke. Tangled in the sheets that were slightly damp from sweat. He stared at the ceiling for a good ten minutes before he rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom. The water in the shower was cold, but he didn't bother to warm it before he got in. The water was almost icy as he scrubbed any evidence of his high from last night from his body. He wrapped one of two soft towels around his waist and only slightly stumbled into the kitchenette to start the tea water.

With the kettle gently beginning to warm he looked around his disheveled flat and picked up the clothes he had stuffed under the door the night before. He realized what he had done during one of his blackouts and growled in frustration. He pulled his hand back to throw the clothes across the room but he stopped and just tossed them onto the small sofa across the room.

Sherlock flopped down on the couch next to the clothes and rested his head against the wall. At least he hadn't been so out of it that he had left the windows open and the door unblocked. It had happened once in his first flat and after it got out that he was a Lume he was forced to sneak out one night to avoid all the unwanted "suitors".

The kettle was beginning to whistle so Sherlock got up, grabbing his purple shirt from the tangle of clothes that laid next to him on the couch and tossing it over his shoulder, and he fished his mug from the pile of dishes in the sink. When the kettle was whistling at a full steam he clicked it off and dropped a tea bag into the mug before pouring the water over it.

A flash of steam flew up in front of his face and he felt a hot sting as water splashed onto his hand. He grimaced and put the kettle down, quickly rubbing his hand on the towel around his waist. He glared at the kettle and the mug before he turned and headed back to his bedroom, throwing the towel over his unused television and pulling his shirt on as he went.

When Sherlock came back out to the little kitchenette (which was really nothing more than a small fridge, a sink, and a hot plate) he was dressed and his tea was ready. He scooped the last of his sugar into the cup and gave it a quick stir before throwing the tea bag away. He took a swig and grimaced as the hot tea burned the inside of his mouth.

The mug was abandoned on the counter and he went to the window, flinging the shades open before digging in between the couch cushions for his phone. He managed to dig it out and he checked his messages. Ten texts from Mycroft, 'probably trying to get me to meet some officials or something stupid' he thought as he deleted the messages without looking at them. He had a missed call from his Mother and a text from Lestrade.  
Sherlock opened the text from Lestrade and read it with disinterest. A strange suicide. Not interesting. Sherlock was about to toss his phone back onto the sofa when a call made it buzz.

Hudson.

Sherlock stared at the phone as he pulled up memories of a woman who had been close to his mother. Mrs. Hudson. She had always loved when he would shine for her. He hadn't spoken to her in years. He didn't know why he did it, he answered the call.

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, Sherlock, dear. I was almost afraid you wouldn't pick up. How have you been all this time?" Sherlock smiled softly at her care.

"Fine fine," he said, sparing her the details of his sporadic highs. "Are you alright?"

"Yes Dear. I was talking to your mother the other day and she said you might need a flat." Sherlock pursed his lips and flopped down on the couch.

Of course it had been a bad idea to tell his Mother where he was staying. He wanted to hang up and go in search of something to carry him up beyond the clouds and forget again. He could hear Mrs. Hudson talking distantly about a flat she was thinking about renting and she was offering a dirt cheap price on it.

"I'll think about it. I'm sorry, but I have something to do. I'll call you back," he said, not really intending to call her back. He sighed as he ended the call and threw his phone across the room, not exactly lightly but it was enough to keep it intact. Sherlock sighed and rubbed his eyes hard. spots exploded across his vision and he didn't care. He held his breath for longer than he should have and he ignored the buzzes of his phone until the sun had set.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock finally rolled off the sofa around eight, when the sun was hanging low in the sky. He tossed the clothes that he had thrown on the sofa into his room and pulled his coat and scarf from their hooks by the door. He needed to be out, just to get lost in the pulsing crowds of London if nothing else.

 

Outside the air was cool against his face. He watched a large group of people walk down the other side of the street and debated following them to whatever club they might be going to. He could see himself following them, even joining in their boistrous conversation, as they went to one of the night clubs or a party by the river. He could imagine himself picking up a handsome young man or a pretty girl, or both even. Just have a night with no obligations in the morning.

He sighed and shook his head, turning and going the opposite direction of the group. He didn't want sex tonight. Or even drugs or alcohol for that matter. He just wanted... The thought made him stop walking and stare at the sky. What did he want? He saw a thin streak of light race across the sky. He closed his eyes on a childish instinct and made a wish.

_'I just want someone who can see past the light.'_ he wished.

He blinked his eyes open and berated himself for subscribing to childish superstition. A breeze raced up from behind him and made the bottom of his coat whip around his legs. He bundled himself up and just started walking.

Cabs and cars alike ran up and down the street next to him, filled with normal people going home or the steady glow of Lumes going out to be seen. Sherlock didn't know if he wanted to be normal like a Shade or as confident as the other Lumes he saw walking around London day and night.

A memory surfaced. He was twelve. There was a new girl in his class and she was a Lume. Sherlock remembered that he had been entraced (along with everyone else in the room) by the gentle teal shine she had. The only open desk had been next to Sherlock so she sat there. It had been six years since he had shone in front of someone else and he acted and looked like a Shade. She had been so pretty and he had wanted to talk to her, but she snubbed every attempt at conversation that all the Shades tried. He smiled at her and she glared at him before turning her attention to one of the Lume boys behind her. It had only served to reaffirm his vow of darkness.

Sherlock looked up when he realized that he had stopped. Where was he? he looked around and saw a black door with a large brass knocker set in the middle of it. Three brass numbers sat above the knocker, shining dimly in the light of the street lamp he was standing under.

221

~*~*~

Sherlock realized that he had walked down to Baker street, Mrs. Hudson's home and where she was renting out a flat. He looked up the face of the building and saw shadows moving in front of the window on the second floor. She had someone over. Maybe a potential lodger or an old friend. Sherlock wondered as he went up to the door and raised his hand.

He hesitated for a moment before he rang the bell. He heard two voices inside, Mrs. Hudson and a man. Sherlock debated beating a hasty retreat but when she opened the door he smiled.

"Oh, Sherlock!" She pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned.

"Mrs.Hudson? Is everything alright?"

Sherlock looked over Mrs.Hudson (not a difficult thing considering he was a good head and a half taller than her) and located the source of the unknown voice.

A man a bit older than him was coming down the stairs. He was blond, an army man. Sherlock saw a protectiveness lingering behind his relaxed pose as he stopped on the next to last stair. Mrs.Hudson turned out of her hug with Sherlock and he could hear her explaining that he was the son of one of her good friends. He caught a name as she yammered. John.

John relaxed and crossed the small entryway, his hand out.

"Pleasure to meet you, I'm John."

Sherlock took his hand and nodded. "Sherlock."

"I was just showing John that flat I called you about earlier."

John smiled and looked at the floor briefly. "Yeah. It's a hell of a place but the rent is a bit steep for my budget. Maybe if I could find a room mate..."

"I can cover half the rent."

John and Mrs.Hudson both looked at Sherlock in surprise. Mrs.Hudson pursed her lips for a moment before she excused herself upstairs to collect the tea service she had taken up there for her and John. John just stared at Sherlock in disbelief.

"I don't know anything about you."

"I know you were an army doctor and that you only recently were sent home. Where was it, Afganistan or Iraq?"

"Afganistan, but..."

"I play the violin occasionally, most of the time I like to be left alone and often I don't talk for days. Would that be a problem?"

"I don't suppose so, but..."

"Good. I can be ready to move in tomorrow afternoon. You can move in anytime you like, but don't take too long." Sherlock turned to leave.

"NOW JUST HOLD ON A DAMN MINUTE!" Sherlock stopped and slowly turned back to John. "I barely know you and you want to move into a flat together?"

Sherlock blinked."Ye-s. I thought that was clear."

John dropped his head into his hands. "fine," he mumbled. "Fine, but this is not permanent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R&R Lume!verse and let me know if you want more of this verse


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a month after Sherlock and John had moved into 221B Baker street. Despite John's almost daily protests that they might not be living together much longer Sherlock could tell that the doctor was actually beginning to enjoy his company.

~*~*~

Sherlock had made good on his promise to move in the next day, packing and bringing only his clothes, his good towels, and his favorite mug. He paused in the door of his flat and looked back at the mirror. He saw his own skewed reflection and stared thoughtfully into his own eyes. He grabbed the mirror and left.

Once he had moved his stuff into the flat though, it had seemed very sparse. He knew that the doctor wouldn't be bringing much with him to the flat so Sherlock went shopping. He bought a sofa, a television, and a puffy grey chair to put in the living room. For the kitchen he ordered a full compliment of flatware and dishes and he was lucky enough to find a moving sale close to the store he was at and bought a plain wooden table.

Sherlock was calling some movers to collect his purchases when something caught his eye. It was a faded, low seated chair. He looked it over and saw that the upholstery was more than faded, it was worn, but so worn that the whole chair was a write off. On an impulse he bought the chair.

When the movers had collected his purchases from the store and the sale, and taken it to the flat with instructions to leave it inside, Sherlock went for a walk along the river. From the river bank the city was quiet. He stood in the shadow of a building that was being renovated into a gallery and just stared over the grey water.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket, only glancing at the name that was on the screen. Lestrade again. He pocketed the phone and briefly thought about going over to Billy's again. John would probably have a fit if Sherlock came home high as a kite. The thought made him smirk a bit, but he decided not to go to Billy's.

He sighed and turned from the river, slowly making his way to his new home.

~*~*~

It had taken John a few weeks to get used to having the strange man as his flatmate. Between the sudden apperence of furniture and the way Sherlock seemed to be hiding something from him, John almost felt like he was left spinning in place while everything happened at once.

When he had moved into 221B the first thing he had seen was a cluster of new furniture sitting in the middle of the living room. There was a puffy, square chair that still had plastic over the seat, a couch with the cushions stacked beside it, a television still in it's box, and a faded red chair. He looked around the flat curiously (he saw the table in the kitchen as he passed it) and went back to the back bedroom.

He saw a couple of small boxes sitting on the bed and decided that Sherlock had claimed the room for himself. He pulled the door closed, but he caught sight of a patch of light in a corner. He bit his lip in indecision. It was Sherlock's room so whatever he had in there was his own business, but whet if there was something dangerous that he should know about his new flatmate?

John glanced behind him and slipped into the room. A blanket had been thrown over the bare bed even though fresh sheets sat on the nightstand. The boxes were open and John could see that there was nothing but clothes in them. He saw a mug under a dark blue shirt, but kept looking around the room. There! John saw the light again.

A sheet had been tossed over something in the corner, but a corner had slid down revealing a shimmering corner. He had pulled the sheet aside and jumped slightly at his unexpected reflection. Before he could explore the room further he had heard Sherlock talking to Mrs.Hudson down stairs and had quickly snuck out of the room with Sherlock completely unaware.

~*~*~

A month after they had moved in together the flat was less sparse. They had pushed the couch against the wall across the room from the fireplace and the chairs had gone next to the fireplace. The television sat in a corner slightly behind John's chair and over time they had both brought in books to fill the shelves. John had bought a coffee table and put it in front of the couch and Sherlock had bought a desk for both of them to use (although it slowly was overtaken by piles of papers and books that belonged to him more than John) and it sat between the windows.

John had tried to pay Sherlock back half the cost of the furniture he had bought but Sherlock constantly assured him that it wasn't necessary. John had eventually relented and instead bought a few nice cushions for the flat and a periodic table for Sherlock to hang in his room if he wanted.

Mrs.Hudson came up every day for the first week or so and was persistent about trying to get them to have dinner with her and the Lume couple that lived in the next building. John had been indifferent, but Sherlock shut down whenever she mentioned it and she eventually gave up.

John didn't understand what Sherlock had against Lumes. He had dated a few and, while he thought most of them were insufferably arrogant, he had thought that they were pretty nice. He was happy that he had been able to get a flat in one of the predominantly Lume parts of town. Sherlock didn't seem as happy about the location though. Sure, he had been the one to suggest moving in, but on more than one occasion John had seen Sherlock playing a violin he had gotten from somewhere and glaring down at any Lume that walked by.

 After a month John still wasn't sure why Sherlock seemed to hate Lumes. Maybe it was the slang they used for people who didn't shine. John could certainly sympathize with that, he didn't like being called a Shade. John had slowly fallen into a habit of watching Sherlock over the top of the paper or his laptop, trying to figure it out.

Sherlock was glad he had decided to move in with John. Being around the doctor had a soothing effect on his mind and even succeeded in distracting him (some what) from how blissfully mundane life was now. He was glad not to have to worry about anything being stolen, which had been the reason he'd had so few things when he moved in, but at the same time it was stressful.

It had been a little over a month since he had been back to Billy's and the little cases he took from Lestrade were so boring he could have solved them in his sleep. He wished he could just go out and find a real high, but he didn't want to risk it. Whether he went out to bar hop or just go to Billy's to share something a little less legal he didn't have a place he could retreat into privacy in case he shone. He didn't want to shine in front of John in particular because, though he'd never say it, he enjoyed the friendship they were forming.

He had seen how John had looked at some of the Lumes on some of the times they had decided to eat out. Sherlock didn't want to see the same glazed look turned on him, he didn't want John to treat him any differently from any normal person. So he suffered through the withdrawal, alternately locking himself in his room and pacing the flat frantically.

One night he was pacing his room and he stopped in front of his window. If he pressed against the wall and looked right he could see out to the street. He did this, not quite sure why, and saw John and a Lume woman who shined a candy apple green. Her light turned her hair into a dancing prism with every movement and Sherlock felt a tug of... something, as she and John disappeared around the corner of the alley.

Sherlock could tell that they had stopped in front of the door of the building and he imagined that John might bring her up for the night. Sherlock turned from the window and flung himself on his bed, falling into a deep sleep before John had put his key in the door downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R&R Lume!verse and let me know what you think of this story or if you want more stories in this verse.


	4. Chapter 4

Days passed into weeks and slowly a month living together became two then three then four. John and Sherlock had fallen into a comfortable rhythm with each other.

John had taken a job at a little surgery a little farther in the city so he either woke before Sherlock or found breakfast already made and sitting, covered, on a small spot that had been cleared among the chemistry set that had taken over the table.

Some mornings he saw Sherlock staring at the wall, others he found him passed out on the sofa or in some odd place. On those occasions he would always put a pillow under his head (he had tried moving him once and the result had been disastrous for a stack of books laying near by) and throw a blanket over him before leaving.

 Sherlock, by comparison, was almost the polar opposite of John. For days on end Sherlock would be wrapped in silence, messing with the ever growing chemistry set that had been slowly growing like a dangerous fat cat, occasionally disappearing for days before popping up in pieces all over the flat, before he would suddenly burst out of the flat dressed in some outlandish outfit and disappear for close to a week sometimes.

Once Sherlock had gone away for a month and John had called the police in a fright, only to be redirected to some DI, Lester or Laural or Lestrade or something like that, who told him not to worry and the next day Sherlock was staring at the ceiling in the living room. John added it to the ever growing list of mysteries about his flatmate, right below the distinct lack of regular job but his uncanny ability to pay his half of the rent every month.

~*~*~

Sherlock had flown out of the flat, chasing down a lead for Lestrade as a favor. People were being found all over the city, six Lumes in all. The papers were jumping on it, calling the killer "The New Ripper."

Sherlock had been ignoring the case for the past week, but the latest victim was found in his old flat on Judd. Something about the closeness to Baker street made him take the case. 

Each victim had been in their 20's and they were all found in mirrored rooms. When Lestrade had told him this he had found it hard to suppress a bitter laugh. Each victim had been shining for their killer, typical. 

 _"someone stares goggled eyed at them,"_ he thought as he looked over crime scene photos,  _"And they only want to impress."_

Sherlock finally tossed the pictures down on Lestrade's desk and sat back in his chair. He slowly spun Lestrade's chair in lazy circles while he thought. It was dark and only a few officers were in Scotland Yard while Lestrade himself was home with his wife who was obviously cheating on him.

He steepled his fingers in front of his lips and stared past his fingers. He was facing the window now and he watched as a few cars went up and down the road, some dark inside, others glowing. Lumes walked in pairs along the pavement, shining in blues and pinks and every color in the rainbow.

He glanced over his shoulder and only saw one officer at the far end of the floor. He turned back to the window and let himself shine a little. Not much, just a glimmer, just enough to cast a faint reflection on the window. He zoned out, letting his mind wander through the color of his shine and he slipped into his mind.

 

Inside his mind palace was much calmer than outside. He was standing at the top of some stairs and in front of him was a door that looked like the one to his and John's flat. He opened the door and he was in the flat. John was standing next to the body of the most recent victim, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was looking down at the woman and Sherlock went to stand on the other side of her.

"It's a puzzle," John said.

"But a piece is missing."

John nodded and knelt by the woman. He plucked up the coroner's report from thin air and flipped through it.

"Her nails."

Sherlock knelt closer and a dozen crime scene photos snapped into existence around the woman. He waved his hand and half of the photos flew away to some unknown corner of his mind. There were two pictures of bruises, he discarded those too. He studied the remaining photos.

On the woman's left hand she had a little glass ring on her pinkie and her nails were painted a vibrant blue. Her right hand was bare, save a few glass bracelets around her wrist and the same blinding shade of electric blue. Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of his face again and the blue color popped up on his own nails. He studied it.

The layer on his left hand was smooth but the layer on his right was chipped and cracked at the edge. He blinked and John's voice floated from behind him.

"Now you're getting it." 

Sherlock shot to his feet and started as Lestrade's chair crashed backwards. Sherlock dashed from the office, startling a custodian and knocking a precarious stack of papers from a desk as he ran to the stairs. He knew just what he needed to solve the case. He needed a blogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R&R Lume!verse and let me know if you want more stories from this verse


	5. Chapter 5

John was dozing on the sofa, the tv playing softly on some crap program, when Sherlock burst into the flat with much thumping and banging. John sat up and tumbled right off the sofa, knocking his knee against the edge of the coffee table.

"John, we're going out."

Sherlock had already left the living room and was back in his bedroom by the time John sat up, propped against the couch and holding his knee. John leaned to the side a bit and stared down the hall at Sherlock's room. He saw clothes of all colors and cuts being flung across the room. John stood, wincing a bit at the dull throb in his knee.

"You know Sherlock, most people ask if others want to go out." He chuckled as he walked over and turned the tv off. "Most people also have stable jobs and don't stuff body parts in the... fridge....."

He trailed off when he looked up and saw Sherlock glowing faintly. He had changed from his usual outfit of dark jeans and a button up shirt to a pair of reflective skinny jeans and a half sheer shirt that was just as reflective. But it wasn't his clothes John couldn't take his eyes off of. It was the faint gold aura that shone around him.

John felt his mouth go dry as he just kept staring at Sherlock.  _A Lume,_ John thought as Sherlock tossed something to him, his voice a faint buzz in the background.  _I've been living with a Lume this whole time._ He instinctively caught whatever it was Sherlock had tossed to him and just watched him as he paused by the door.

"Well, John. We haven't got all night."

"A-all night for what?"

Sherlock groaned in exasperation and rolled his eyes, sometimes John could be dense. He crossed the room and took the tube of glow gel back from John and opened it.

"We are going to Starlight and you need to have this on to blend," he said as he waved the tube in front of John.

John took the tube in confusion. "Starlight?" Starlight was one of the biggest Lume clubs in London and it was very exclusive, but his mind wandered into a combination of disappointment and sadness that Sherlock was, after all, a normal human in the loosest sense of the word.

"Yes, John, Starlight. I have some clothes that should fit you now go and get dressed." Sherlock began to bustle John back to his room to get him changed but John resisted.

"What? No. I'm not Lume so I won't get in."

"Without me, yes, but I did the owners some favours a month ago and they owe me." Despite his thinness Sherlock was indeed very strong and he had finally gotten the doctor back to his room.

John wasn't appreciating being man handled. He spun around and pushed Sherlock back.

"Stop. Just stop it." He carded a hand through his hair. "No more of this until you tell me what is going on."

Sherlock just watched John with a curious look for a few moments before he leaned against the door frame.

"I consult for the police," he said simply. Confusion clouded John's face.

"What? What does that mean?"

"It means that, when the police are out of their depth, with is most of the time, they come to me for help. That's what I do, I'm a 'consulting detective', if you will."

"What does that have to do with Starlight and-"

"You've seen the murders being reported on lately."

John knew exactly what murders he was talking about. "Yeah, the Lume killings."

"Well,I'm helping, well guiding is probably a better word, but none the less I am working with the police on it."

John and Sherlock stared at each other for a solid minute, John trying to decide what to do and Sherlock just watching him, his mind fairly quiet with focus for now. John finally sighed and looked around at the clothes scattered around Sherlock's room.

"So what's the plan?"

~*~*~

Outside Starlight was a long line of Lumes, a few normal people mixed in, but most of the people were shining, casting a rainbow of every color in the spectrum up on the wall of the building. Young Lume twenty to thirty somethings shone at varying levels, the light bouncing off the reflective clothes they were all wearing.

John was awestruck as Sherlock pulled him past the line of people. He saw a couple of normal people chatting with Lumes in the line but they were swallowed by the light as soon as they were past them. Sherlock stopped at the door.

Standing in front of the door were two very tall and very strong looking men. John shrank back a bit, worried that they would realize that he was wearing glow gel. Sherlock stepped forward, pulling something from the pocket of his big black coat. The bouncers glanced at each other and waved them in.

Inside the club was a writhing mass of light, limbs, and thumping bass. John felt like he was walking right into a wall of sound, the bass reverberating in the center of his chest. Sherlock tossed his coat into the coat check, which was empty except for a couple of shimmering jackets, and John was amazed as Sherlock became a different person. He grabbed John's wrist and pulled him into the pulsating crowd, moving with the beat.

John was buffeted on all sides by people dancing, drinking, kissing, and he felt Sherlock being pulled deeper into the crowd. He felt his fingers slipping from his wrist and on instinct he grabbed his hand. Sherlock gripped John's hand in response and pulled him through the crowd.

The finally made it across the dance floor and stood, breathing a little harder than they had been when they'd walked in, by the bar. John leaned against the bar and Sherlock waved at the bartender, signaling for two drinks. A blonde glowing blue spotted them from a little ways down the bar and she began to make her way towards them as the bartender set two drinks.

Sherlock saw the girl, John didn't. Sherlock gave her a quick once over and saw the group of friends she must have come with and decided she wasn't who he was looking for. John noticed her when she stopped by him and she gently bumped her hip against his.

"Hi," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the deep bass in the music.

"Hi." John thought she looked beautiful. Maybe it was just her glow, maybe it was the way the light in the club bounced off her white dress, or maybe it was the long slit up the side of it that showed off her long legs, but he was entranced.

"I haven't seen you around here before." She leaned against the bar next to him and traced his jaw with one finger.

"W-well, I've never been here before."

"Shame, you should dress up more and mingle," she said as she waggled her glow gel coated finger in his face. John suddenly felt the weight of the gel on his body like it was a heavy coat. She laughed at his nervous face. "It's OK, I won't tell."

John was about to ask her name when his world was suddenly sent spinning and he found himself kissing Sherlock.

"Darling, where have you been all night? I thought I'd seen you by the DJ but now I've found you and I'm so glad," he said while John stood in shock, his brain short circuiting as he tried to process what had just happened. Sherlock turned his gaze on the woman, his eyes hardening slightly. "And you are...?"

"Staia." She offered a hand but Sherlock ignored her, turning back to the bar and wrapping an arm around John's waist, pulling him against his hip.

"Sherlock, don't be rude. We were just talking," John whispered as he pinched Sherlock hard.

"No, she was becoming a distraction. Ignore her and we can get to work."

"How?" John asked, pinching Sherlock's arm harder. "By kissing me? By brushing off a woman who might very well be helpful to us?"

 

Staia smiled, a bit confused as to why the nice blonde man was arguing with the rude, taller man. She couldn't hear them over the music and after a moment she pulled a pen from her bra and wrote her number on a napkin, sticking it in the man's pocket before going back onto the dance floor to find her friends.

The dance floor was a pulsing mass of bodies and sound. From the edge it might have looked like a dauntless wall of bodies with no way in or out, but it was a breathing, shifting mass of people. People joined the group, swaying with the heavy beat of the music, people left the group the same way. It was about finding the beat Staia thought as she bumped and swayed her way through the crowd to find her friends.

"Hello Moonbeam," a deep voice said as she bumped past a teal couple. She turned at the term of endearment, looking for the voice's owner. He was a few inches taller than her, his lilac glow seeming a bit at odds with his looks.

"Hello too you to Hot Stuff." She winked at him. This was her lucky night, meeting two hot guys, though one might not call her later.

"You ditching your boyfriend?" He jerked his head in John and Sherlock's general direction, shouting over the music.

Staia chuckled and shook her head. She pulled him off to the quieter booths around the edge of the dance floor so they could talk.

"I'm just here with friends."

The guy smiled and offered his hand. "Simon and, if you're interested, I'm here alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Moley this took long enough to get up here. I hope it was worth the wait and that you enjoyed. 
> 
> leave comments about what you hope to see next and leave a kudos if you like


	6. Chapter 6

It was very late. Actually it was very early. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon as John and Sherlock stumble and bumped their way up to their flat as quietly as they could.

"You are insane, you know that don't you?" John said as he propped himself against the door frame. Sherlock was trying to fit his key into the lock and snorted.

"Insanity is only a plea used in court with no real evidence that it exists."

The rasp of the key slotting into the lock filled the tiny stairway.

"Don't interrupt me when I'm drunk... What was I saying again?"

Sherlock shrugged as he pushed the door open, walking straight in and flopping face-first onto the sofa. John thumped onto the floor and rested against the sofa, his head falling back to rest against Sherlock's arm.

They hadn't really gotten _drunk per se but John had certainly gotten close. Sherlock had only nursed two drinks over the whole evening and he still seemed to be more drunk than John. John sighed as Sherlock shifted into his side and his head flopped back onto the sofa cushion._

_"Why did we even go without a solid lead?"_

_Sherlock shrugged in response before realizing that John couldn't actually see him._

_"An experiment. A suspicion. Who cares?"_

_John hummed in agreement as his already weak buzz faded more into a slightly floaty feeling in his limbs. He drifted on the edge of sleep for a while, his mind wandering. It wasn't long before his mind went back to the club._

_It had actually been the most fun John had had since he was shipped out. he had snuck out with a couple of friends to go to the exotic bars in Afghanistan where devastatingly beautiful dancers; make and female, Lume and normal alike, brought fantasies to life for the right amount of coin. His buddies were sneaking out almost weekly but John himself only went along twice. The first time he just watched the svelte movements of the dancers, the second time he paid a Lume woman who glowed with the same color a firefly glows with._

_The bar in Afghanistan had been ok but he never had much fun. Tonight, however, had been different. Despite the fact that most of the clientele probably not being alive or just beginning to flicker when he shipped out he had enjoyed the heavy thud of the bass in his chest and the way all the lights played on the fog that covered the floor and how Sherlock's mouth had fit so nicely against his-_

_John's eyes flitted open as his thoughts ground to a halt. He felt heat crossing over his face as he flushed. It had been a nice kiss though, despite Sherlock having brushed it off._

_All of a sudden he was beginning to feel very uncomfortable and he shifted in his spot on the floor. For the second time that night he could feel the remnants of the glow gel weighing on him. He cleared his throat._

_"Um, Sherlock?"_

_The deep, steady breathing that answered him told him that Sherlock had long since dozed off. John sighed and leveraged himse_ _lf off the floor. Pulling his too-tight shirt off, he went into the kitchen to get a rag. When he came back to the living room with the wet rag Sherlock was sprawled across the couch and partly on the coffee table. John sighed and began cleaning himself and Sherlock for bed._

**Author's Note:**

> The Lume!verse is an original 'verse of mine so read, review, and share it with your friends


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